


Perfect Day

by chelseagirl



Series: Ella [1]
Category: Alias Smith and Jones
Genre: F/M, Romance, Soul-Searching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-20 20:31:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13725435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chelseagirl/pseuds/chelseagirl
Summary: With the amnesty not seeming to be any closer, both Curry and Heyes are feeling the strain.   The Kid wires an old friend to come help out.





	Perfect Day

**Author's Note:**

> This is a new story which nests in between two stories written years ago, "On Urgent Business" and "Changes."
> 
> (And yes, I promised more fluff. And I'm working on it, really! But this one isn't that.)

Just a perfect day  
You made me forget myself  
I thought I was  
Someone else, someone good

Oh, it's such a perfect day  
I'm glad I spent it with you  
Oh, such a perfect day  
You just keep me hanging on

Lou Reed, “Perfect Day”

Hannibal Heyes was not his usual self, and hadn’t been, for weeks. Kid Curry couldn’t help thinking that it might have been going on longer than that, but that Heyes just wasn’t hiding it anymore. His dark eyes were shadowed, and he seemed older, more tired, and verging on worn out.

“Just don’t seem any point to it, Kid. The governor’s been making promises to us for nearly two years now, and nothing much has come of it.”

“We’ll get the amnesty, Heyes. Lom’s still pulling for us, and we’ve stayed out of trouble this long.” This role reversal was something new – Heyes had always been the optimist, trying to keep them on track, and on the right side of the law.

But now he sighed. “Feels like we’re running out of options.”

“Have you thought about talking to our lawyer about this?” Somehow, it was clear to both of them which lawyer the Kid meant, and it wasn’t Chester Brubaker, though he’d so recently helped them out in Hadleyburg.

“That’s another thing, Kid. I gotta break that off. It just ain’t fair to her. If anyone finds out she’s mixed up with me, it could get her in serious trouble. Maybe even get her disbarred.”

“Well . . .” said Curry. “I guess you’ll have to tell her that yourself. ‘Cause if her train’s on time, she’ll be here in about an hour.”

Heyes just stared at his partner. “No, Kid. You didn’t.”

“Wired her a few days ago. I thought that maybe she could give us some advice about the situation. From a legal perspective. Plus you always seem a lot happier after you’ve seen her.”

Heyes gave him a look, and the Kid quickly said, “I didn’t mean _that_. Well, not _just_ that, though you don’t seem much interested in, well, _that_ with anyone else, anymore. But what I meant was that talkin’ with her always seems to do you good.”

“She believes in the law, so she believes we can get straight with it. Which probably just proves that she don’t know us all that well. And that she might be a little more naïve about the law than she supposes.” He stopped -- even in his negative mood, he had to admit that didn’t quite make sense, what with her practically growing up in her father’s law office.

“Now you’re just twistin’ things around.”

His partner sighed ruefully. “Could be. It’s been so long since I’ve felt anything but tired – seems lately I’ve been looking over my shoulder more than looking forward. Do you ever miss Devil’s Hole, Kid? Having a safe haven?”

“Sometimes,” said the Kid, noncommittally. When Heyes got like that, there wasn’t much point in disagreeing.

An hour later they were at the train depot. They sat in companionable silence, but Curry could feel his partner tense a little as the time for the train’s arrival came and went.

“Probably just runnin’ a bit behind schedule. Probably nothin’ wrong,” he said.

Heyes silenced his partner with a glance, but his own tension seemed to grow, until Curry felt like he could sense it, almost physically. They’d been responsible for enough trains being late themselves, in their time. Finally, they saw a cloud of smoke in the distance, and the distinctive sounds, as the train drew closer and closer.

The train came to a halt in the station, and a few people exited. The Kid followed his friend’s glance, as he swept the length of the train. Where was she?

Finally, a slender blonde woman appeared in the doorway of one of the cars. “You’ve got my card, ma’am,” she said to someone over her shoulder. “Wire our office anytime – I’ll be gone for a few days, but my partner, he can start things going for you.”

With a quick apology to the conductor for holding things up, she exited the train. She was carrying a carpetbag in one hand, and a leather satchel in the other, so that when she approached the pair who were waiting for her, she didn’t have a free hand.

“Mister Smith, Mister Jones.”

“Miss Hart.” The Kid extended a hand to take the carpetbag, which she handed off gratefully.

Heyes just stared at her, until his companion whispered, “Joshua? You gonna take her other bag?” and he extended a hand, almost mechanically. But then he smiled, the first warm, relaxed smile the Kid had seen on him in what seemed to be a long time. The way he used to smile, that broad, dimpled grin.

“Miss Hart. Hope we didn’t pull you away from anything too important.”

“As I believe I’ve said to you on previous occasions, what could be more important than my two favorite clients?” She returned the smile. “Could we continue this somewhere they’re serving dinner? Caroline nearly burned the kitchen down, making breakfast this morning, and as a result, I haven’t had anything to eat since last night.”

“Caroline?” asked Heyes.

“My new ward. I forgot you wouldn’t know about Caroline. She’s come to live with me since Sandy got married. She’s fourteen years old, ridiculously bright, and pretty much nothing but trouble.” She smiled, her fondness for her charge obvious. “She’s also nearly as inept at domestic matters as I am, although after this morning, I might have to give her pride of place on that score.”

“How is Miss Sandy?” Curry asked.

“She’s taken up knitting, with a vengeance. In my bag, I’ve got wool mufflers she’s knit for you both; she’s been worried about you when the weather turns cold, in case you find yourselves sleeping out of doors. Mister Jones, yours is blue for your eyes. Mister Smith, yours is also blue . . . honestly, because she’s got quite a lot of blue wool.”

They began walking towards the hotel, where Ella signed the register, and was handed the key to her room. She arranged for someone to take her bags up, and they headed straight to the dining room.

As they sat, waiting for their food, the men were quiet. Ella chattered on about her latest cases, and about the goings-on in her small town. Curry responded with polite and sometimes genuine interest, but Heyes remained strangely silent, nodding and responding uncharacteristically laconically.Their food was served. Ella noticed that the Kid tucked in with his usual relish, while Heyes picked at his stew, and refilled his wine glass with some frequency. His sideburns were more substantial than she’d seen before, and she thought the look made him seem more like an outlaw, just when he was aspiring to leave that life behind him once and for all. She wondered if that meant anything.

“I know there were some questions you had for me,” she said. “Do we want to do that this evening, or wait ‘til tomorrow?”

“How long are you here for?”

“I can stay for a few days, if it would be convenient.” She looked at them inquiringly, trying to get a better sense of why she’d been summoned.

“That’d be great,” said the Kid. “We’re in no hurry to move on.”

Heyes just nodded.

“Well, if you gentlemen don’t mind, it’s been quite a day, commencing with me putting out several actual fires, and followed by a long train ride. I think I’ll retire now, and see you both in the morning.”

*****

Ella had gotten through the not uncomplicated process of undressing and letting down her hair, and was sitting in a lace-trimmed and pintucked white nightgown and robe, reading Keats, when a knock came on the door.

“Hello?” she asked, half-lost in the drowsy realm of nightingales and Attic vases.

“It’s me –“ came Heyes’ resonant baritone, sounding unusually hesitant.

She rose and went to the door, opening it just enough for him to slip inside.

“I wasn’t sure I’d see you this evening,” she said. “You don’t seem quite yourself, and . . . well, the Kid’s never been the one to wire me before.”

“I’m just tired. Bone-tired and beginning to wonder if the governor’s ever gonna keep his word and give us the amnesty.”

“I’m so sorry.” She took a step towards him, but he didn’t reciprocate, keeping his arms at his sides.

“Ella, this thing between us has to stop. It’s not fair to you – I have no idea when or even if things are gonna change for me.”

“Interesting,” was all she said.

He frowned, clearly puzzled as to her reaction.

“I can see why the Kid contacted me, now. You look like you’re in pretty rough shape. You’ve lost five pounds that you didn’t really have to lose, and I’m guessing you haven’t been sleeping much at all.”

Heyes nodded. “Not much, lately. I just keep running over things in my head at night, most of the night. And none of it seems to make much sense anymore. We’ve given up the security of Devil’s Hole and the money that came from our robberies, and in exchange, what do we have? We have to keep on the move, just struggling to keep ourselves together. Feels like we’re going backwards.”

“Starting over works that way, sometimes.”

“Just not seeing any progress. Not sure what the point of it is, anymore.”

“And you don’t seem particularly pleased to see me.”

“The Kid seems to think somehow seeing you would just cheer me back up. But instead, I’m looking at you and all I can think about is how every minute is a minute closer to you leaving again. And never knowing if this time will be the last time I see you, because someone turns me in, or something even worse happens.”

“So end it now, and get the pain over with?”

He nodded, hesitantly.

“Or continue to let life surprise us?” She looked at him searchingly, then broke eye contact, suddenly unsure. “The course of my life was pretty well charted, before you wandered into my town. Got you out of trouble, and then, somehow, that started to become a habit. I know that we’ve never made any promises, either of us. And there are never any guarantees in life. If there were, I’d be practicing law with my father and my husband, as planned. I imagine I’d have a couple of children, rushing off to school every morning, aiming to cross-examine the teacher on every possible occasion. Instead of which, here I am.”

“Your husband. Billy.”

“I expect we’d be calling him William by now, If he’d lived.” She paused. “He didn’t. You know all about loss. And you’ve never let it keep you from living. I came close. But, of course, mourning was a luxury you never had; you had to survive.” She sat down on the edge of the bed. “I don’t believe you won’t come through to the other side of this. But that’s easy for me to say, since when I leave here I go home to my comfortable life, while you continue to look over your shoulder.”

“You mean the comfortable life where half the clients don’t even believe you’re a real lawyer, and where you’ve taken to adopting young arsonists?” A shade of mischief crossed his face, and his eyes brightened for the first time.

“The Caroline thing was genuinely an accident – although she does have some considerable talent for picking locks, which is another story entirely. And I never said I didn’t enjoy a challenge. Look at my taste in gentleman callers.” She looked into his eyes for a moment and turned serious. “I can’t even imagine the uncertainty, not being able to stay in one place, not knowing what tomorrow might bring. I don’t think it’s remotely surprising that you’re not doing too well. It just shows you’re human. I think you’re remarkably strong, under the circumstances.”

Now he sat down next to her. Because she was almost as tall as he, he was able to rest his head on her shoulder comfortably, and she reached up and stroked his thick, dark hair. “Why’s the Kid seem like nothing’s wrong with him, then?” he asked.

“He looks tired, too. He’s under a big strain, same as you. But he’s not as easily affected by things outside himself that he can’t control. Also, I suspect he’s putting his focus on worrying about you, at the moment, rather than himself.”

He didn’t respond – unlike him not to have something to say. But he slid an arm around her waist and they continued sitting in companionable silence.

After some time, she admitted that she couldn’t remain awake any longer. “You could stay, if you want.”

“I’d like that,” he said, simply.

*****

When Ella woke up, the next morning, Heyes was still there. He was mostly dressed, in his shirt and trousers, and lying on top of the covers, but at some point in the night, he’d rolled onto his side and slid an arm around her.

“Wake up,” she whispered, experimentally. But if he was sleeping soundly, she didn’t want to wake him – he’d seemed exhausted, yesterday. Beyond exhausted, honestly. After sliding out from under his arm, she dressed as quickly and quietly as she could manage, and slipped out into the hallway.

Kid Curry was in the dining room, already eating a hearty breakfast. He nodded for her to take a seat.

“He’s sound asleep,” she said softly, conscious that others around them might overhear. In response to his inquiring glance, she blushed slightly. “He fell asleep on top of the covers, in all his clothes. Which is,” now she really reddened, “not at all typical of . . . well . . . .” Her embarrassment overcame her.

The Kid pondered to himself that Ella was a strange one, just blurting out things that a proper lady would never talk about, and then suddenly recollecting herself and reverting to form, genuinely uncomfortable about what she’d just said. She knew the Kid was worried about Heyes, and probably, with her lawyer’s attention to detail, thought it was his right to know anything that might give a clue to his partner’s current state of mind. No matter how much against her own inclinations it might be to talk about it. Well, Heyes liked ‘em complicated. The Kid enjoyed Ella’s company, and even thought her quite pretty, but this one would never have come to a coin toss. Not even if the lady hadn’t made her preference for his partner clear from almost the very beginning.

She took a deep breath. “So . . . can I borrow your horse?”

Curry smiled. “Got something in mind?”

“Just a perfect day.”

“Don’t think that’s possible.”

They were briefly interrupted by the arrival of her tea and toast, but having poured, she returned to the question. “Well, literally, no. Nothing’s ever perfect, after all. But today, we’re going to take a holiday from our regular lives. Sandy and I do that sometimes – just set everything aside for a day. Take off together and just . . . go. Away from it all.”

He nodded. “Sounds nice. I think Heyes’d like that.”

“You can’t come along, though, because you’re part of that everyday life.”

The Kid thought for a moment, and saw the logic of it. “All right, then.”

“Again, can I borrow your horse?”

He laughed. “Guess so, if it’s that central to your plan.”

Ella said, softly enough that no one around them could hear, “If it _involves_ Hannibal Heyes rather than being made _by_ him, does it count as a Hannibal Heyes plan?”

Curry pondered the question. “No, I don’t think so. But it don’t mean you’re not a genius, too.” He winked at her.

“I am definitely not that, or I wouldn’t have handed Rick Johnson the Chambers case on a silver platter last week. I got overconfident – always leads to disaster.” She turned her head, and the Kid followed her glance, at the same time that he wondered if he and Heyes had gotten overconfident somewhere along the line, and if disaster was inevitable.

“Well look who’s finally makin’ an appearance,” he said, as Heyes made his way across the room towards them.

*****

An hour and a bit later, Heyes and Ella were on horseback and on their way out of town.

“So what’s the plan?” he asked.

“The plan is that there is no plan. At some point, we head back into town. But between now and then, there is no goal, no agenda, we just respond to the world around us.”

“What if that world includes a rattlesnake, or a bear?” Heyes had spent a great deal more time in the wilderness than his companion had, and was aware of the need to be vigilant.

“So first of all, you need to stop planning for potential disaster. Today is a holiday from everyday life.”

“This from you, Ella? The woman who’s usually planning out a trial and a couple of contracts, not to mention a new dress, in your head all at the same time?”

“If I’m not mistaken, that’s a case of the pot calling the kettle black. You’ve usually got a fair bit going on in that brain of yours, all at the same time, yourself. In fact, I believe that you’re quite well known for it.” But today was about forgetting all that, so she didn’t pursue it.

The surrounding countryside was beautiful, the early spring weather waking up into blooms nearby and the mountains at a distance inviting in all their majesty. They rode, at their slower pace, for quite some time, without talking. When they found themselves near a stand of trees by the side of a small, lively stream, they dismounted, and tied up the horses.

They wandered upstream, listening to the rushing of the water, watching the light glint on it as it poured over the rocks. He took her hand, to help her up over a rough place, and then didn’t let go of it, as they continued onwards.

Rounding a bend in the stream, they stopped short, both of them, at a sudden vista of the mountains, a distant view of one particular peak, a beam of light illuminating it brightly.

He heard her mutter something about “thou Ravine of Arve . . .” under her breath.

“You been here before? You know this place?”

“No,” she said. “It just reminds me of something I’ve read about.”

He shook his head. “Half the time, me and the Kid, we ride right past something like this, we forget to even look. Just thinkin’ about how tired we are, or how hungry, or how we’ve got to get somewhere sooner rather than later. Seems a waste, with all this to be seen.”

“I don’t get out and about like you two, of course, but it’s easy to overlook all this beauty, isn’t it? Sandy and I still go riding when we can, at least into the foothills near home. Her husband . . . .“ She cut herself off. “No, that’s one of the problems we’re not talking about, today.”

He looked around, speculating. “What do you think it’d be like – build a cabin, live with a view like that out your window all the time?”

“Inspiring. But cold in winter, and a long way to go for supplies. Awfully lonely.”

“Depends on the company.” He leaned forward and kissed her.

She responded, eagerly, but after a moment, when they pulled apart, she said, “More of that later. But right now, we’ve got things to see.”

He smiled again, and this time it was reflected in his eyes, as well. “We should get back to the horses.”

So they turned, and retraced their steps, more or less. About halfway back, he suddenly put his hand out to stop her moving forward. She was about to speak, when she followed the direction of his gaze and saw what he did. A mother wildcat with her kittens, playing in the grass.

They stood silently, enraptured by the spectacle. Then something caught the mother’s attention, and the wildkittens all dashed off after her.

“Oh, my goodness!” she said. “I just wanted to cuddle them.”

“Not a good idea,” he cautioned. “They may look like kittens, but they’ll take a chunk out of your hand as soon as look at you.”

“Apparently you haven’t met my Mephistopheles. He’d do likewise.”

“How’d I know you’d have a cat with some longwinded name like that? I was sayin’ to the Kid, just the other day, I bet Ella’s got a cat named Hezekiah or Mephistopheles or some such thing. Maybe Nebuchadnezzar.” That smile, again.

“You speculate on my pets when I’m not around?”

“Well, me and the Kid, we spend an awful lot of time together. So we run out of things to talk about sometimes, and we have to use our imaginations.”

“After all, I do have a predilection for unusual names, considering I’ve got a gentleman caller named Hannibal.”

“Who hopes to be able to actually call on you again, someday, instead of just wiring you to show up someplace to get him out of trouble.” He started to look serious, again, so she caught his hand.

“Those horses are going to start wondering where we’ve gotten to,” she reminded, deflecting.

He took a hint, and they proceed onwards, to where their horses were waiting patiently for them. Heyes’s horse whinnied at the sight of him.

Ella winced, just before mounting. “I hadn’t ridden astride in ages. Takes a little getting used to.” He helped her get up on horseback.

Heyes mounted, himself. “The Kid may be chivalrous, but it don’t quite reach the state of carrying a spare sidesaddle around, just in case any particularly fussy ladies may be borrowing his horse. Anyway, you know it’s safer this way. You’re more firmly seated on the horse.”

“I don’t expect he loans out his horse very often.”

“You are among a chosen few, that’s for certain.” He thought for a moment. “In fact, I can’t recall that he ever did.”

They rode back to town, where they separated to wash and dress for dinner.

*****

He knocked at her door, and, as she was just putting the final touches to her hair, she quickly opened it.

“Can’t find the Kid anywhere. Just a note saying he had other plans and that we should enjoy our dinner, and to tell you he’d see you tomorrow.”

They smiled at each other, both presuming the Kid’s plans weren’t so different from theirs, most likely, but involving some young lady or other of a very different profession than Ella’s.

Their dinner felt somehow more comfortable than the previous night’s. Heyes seemed to genuinely enjoy his meal, and she noticed that there was less toying with his food, and more actual eating of it. There were fewer refills from the wine bottle. Although he was still more restrained than usual in his conversation, there were no awkward silences, and he held up his end quite easily. Several times, he reached across the table, to take her hand for a moment.

They declined dessert.

*****

When they reached her room, he followed her inside – there was no questioning, this time. As the door swung shut, he pulled her into a deep, searching kiss. Her hand came up to the side of his face, and the new sideburns were wiry to the touch.

As they separated, she asked what she’d been wondering since the previous day. “Why the new look? It makes you seem more, not less, like the outlaw you were. The person you’re trying not to be, anymore.”

He shook his head. “I don’t know how much I’ve really changed. Or if I’m just looking out for my own best interests, same as always. I don’t even know if we deserve amnesty, the Kid and me. We may not have shot anyone in all those robberies, but we sure as hell hurt people by taking that money, and not just the banks and the railroads.” The worry lines around his deep brown eyes were more visible than she’d ever seen them.

She took a deep breath. “And that is the least self-interested you’ve ever sounded, in any of our conversations. Ever.” He remained silent, so she continued. “You are bad, and you are good, and you are human, and you are flawed. And you are trying to be better, which is all any of us can ever do. Should you pay for what you’ve done? Probably. But considering it’s my job to keep my clients out of prison, you’re not going to get me to admit that.”

“How can you really understand the depths of it?” he asked. “You’re not just a woman, you’re a lady. With your manners and your books and your silver tea service. I must be the only vice you’ve ever had.” He smiled ruefully.

“Do you really think all of my cases have been property and contract disputes? I’ve stood at the side of more than one man, more than one woman, as the judge has pronounced the verdict of death. Some of them were guilty, and some of them weren’t, and I’m as good a lawyer as you’re going to find anywhere, but I fought my hardest and there were some I still couldn’t save.” She took several steps backwards, and sat on the edge of the bed. “At quarter sessions, in Helena, there’s a certain kind of client who comes looking for me. Because they can talk to me, because they can tell me how many times he’s hit them, how badly he’s hurt them, that he’s threatening to take away their children, or even worse. Whether he’s their husband, or their procurer. When putting arsenic in his coffee, or seducing some cowboy into calling him out, seems like their only way out of an impossible situation.” Her eyes were full of tears, now. “You may have been a bad man, but you’re not an evil one. They’re out there, the evil ones. And they’re close to home sometimes.” She looked at him, openly weeping now. “I think Sandy may have made a terrible mistake, and there’s nothing I can do to help her. Not until it gets much worse, and I’m afraid it will.”

He held her as she cried, and later, when they made love, he clung to her, passionately, almost as though he were afraid to let go. The next morning, they lay in bed together, entwined and looking at one another in lazy contentment.

“Sometimes,” he mused, “when I’m with you, I forget.”

“Forget?”

“I forget who I am, for a moment. I’m just here, with you, and things are as they should be. As they would have been, if I’d made some different choices, back down the road.” He touched the side of his own face, one of the sideburns. “I grew them to remind myself. That I am still that outlaw, that I did all those things; that there’s a reason I have that record I want the governor to wipe clean.”

“And you’re also someone who is, who can be, so much more.” _And I love you,_ she thought, but wouldn’t, couldn’t say.

”Thank you for believing that. I’m not always so sure about it. But I’d like to be.”

She looked as though she was about to answer, when a knock came on the door. So instead, she quickly threw on her robe, while he obligingly concealed himself under the covers.

It was the desk clerk. “Miss Hart? There’s a wire, just came through for you. It looks to be urgent.” He handed her a slip of paper.

As she read, all the color drained out of her face. “When’s the next train out of here heading north?”

“Nine o’clock – about three-quarters of an hour from now.”

She thanked him and shut the door. She looked at Heyes, who’d emerged from under the bedclothes as soon as the door clicked shut. “I’m sorry . . . I need to get back home as quickly as possible.”

“What’s the matter?” he asked, seeing how pale she’d grown.

“It’s Jeremy.” Her law partner, best friend, and honorary younger brother. “He’s been in a riding accident. He was thrown, and he landed badly, and he’s still not awake. The telegram says that they’re not sure how serious it is. And Melanie – remember I told you how he married his sweetheart? – she’s expecting and of course it’s her first and I cannot begin to imagine how she must be feeling. And she’s asked me to come home immediately.” She managed to say it all without taking a breath. “I’m sorry . . . I need to be with them.”

Heyes looked at the clock on the mantel. Part of him wanted to say _Stay. I need you more than he does._ But Jeremy was part of her real life, and he knew he was only a dream. Might only ever be that. “You haven’t got much time to catch that train.”

She bustled around, washing and dressing quickly, and throwing things into her carpetbag. She wound her hair into a knot, more carelessly than usual, and stabbed it through with a number of pins. Meanwhile, he put his clothes on and ran a hand through his hair.

“I’m sorry. I wanted . . . I wanted to give you so much more. But this will have to do for now.” She pressed a book into his hands, along with the two woolen mufflers she’d been tasked to give to him and his partner. “I know you’re not especially fond of poetry, but this is different. I’ve marked one I think you might like especially.”

He frowned slightly. “This isn’t your Keats, is it? I looked at it last night, and it’s not quite my . . .” He trailed off.

“No, it’s an American poet. Walt Whitman. I bought you a copy specially – what we talked about last night? Being good and bad and flawed and human? Whitman understands that. He celebrates it. I think you and he will get on well together.”

He nodded his acknowledgment of her thoughtfulness – she bought her books from a bookseller back East and must have ordered this for him some time ago, not knowing when or even whether she would see him again – but whether wasn’t really a question anymore, was it? Despite all his best intentions of ending their connection in order to protect her, he couldn’t imagine his life without her in it. He pocketed the book, and picked up her carpetbag, to carry it to the station.

As they waited on the platform together, he slid his arm around her, and they leaned together against the chilly air. He whispered something in her ear that made her turn to him, with an uncharacteristically shy smile. But all too soon, she was on the other side of a train window from him, once again.

*****

The Kid shot Heyes a look of disgusted amusement. Sure, wiring Ella had been his idea, and from what he could see, he’d been right and it had been good for his partner to see her. But sometimes things between the two of them went a little too far. “She’s got you readin’ _poetry_ now? What’s next? She gonna train you how to use the right fork?”

“It ain’t . . . it’s not . . .” Heyes was slightly dismayed to recognize that he did tend to correct his own grammar, whenever he’d been around her. “It’s not like anything I’ve ever read before. It’s wild stuff, and true, Kid. Just listen . . . “

**Author's Note:**

> Strangely, I was in the middle of writing this story, when I got a text from a friend who, knowing I’d been having a rough time of it for various reasons, decided we should have a Super Happy Fun Afternoon. And you know, it really did help pull me out of myself for a bit.  
> Ever since I began reposting my old stories here on AO3, and started thinking about writing new ones, I’ve been wanting to use Lou Reed’s song “Perfect Day” as the basis for a Heyes and Ella story. This was inspired by some online discussions of how the long quest for amnesty started to wear on Curry and Heyes, and especially by a reread of One More Last Chance, a fan novel by Ann Wortham, Laura Virgil, and Lynn Bowyer, where Heyes gets beat up on so much that I just wanted to hug him. Not being delusional, I sent a fictional character to do it, instead – and Ella was happy to oblige. This one takes place in between “On Urgent Business” (which establishes that Heyes has started making up pretexts to see Ella, instead of letting fate – or the need for a good lawyer -- bring them together) and “Changes” (which takes place shortly after the amnesty is finally granted).  
> My grandma had a cat named Mephistopheles, before I was born. I’m pretty sure my dad named him.  
> The Whitman poem which Ella bookmarked for Heyes was “Crossing Brooklyn Ferry,” but really any number of them might have done just as well. She could have sent him to “Song of Myself,” but sometimes Heyes is a little too full of himself as it is . . . .


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